Pope snubbed by Scottish Catholics

Thousands turn down the chance to see the Pope in person, and controversy over costs continues.

Controversy has broken out over the Pope's planned open-air Mass at Bellahouston Park, near Glasgow, with many parishes returning more than half of their allocated tickets for the event.

The organisers now reportedly fear that attendance will fall short of the 100,000 they expected to come to the Mass, which will cost £1.5m to stage. Each of Scotland's 450 Catholic parishes received a pro-rata ticket allocation based on the size of its regular congregation, but the Herald reports that, in some cases, only one-sixth of the parishioners are planning to take up their places at the papal event.

In 1982, Pope John Paul II celebrated Mass at the same site on a sunny afternoon, with 300,000 people in attendance. The choice of this site has been interpreted as an attempt to re-create the success and popularity of that service for a pope who has been under siege in recent months.

The open-air Mass requires participants to be in their places hours before the two-hour service begins, and it is thought that fears about the weather and long travel times are putting people off. Distant parishes are also planning to watch the service via video link, rather than travel to the other side of the country to attend in person.

The service, which will take place on 19 September during the Pope's state visit to Britain, has also reopened the debate over the cost of the papal trip to Britain. Although it insists that pilgrims will not have to pay to attend the Mass at Bellahouston, the Catholic Church has asked each parish to make a donation of £20 per attendee -- an obligation that many parishes have passed on to their parishioners.

The total cost of the visit, which will be borne by Britain, as the host nation, provoked outrage in some quarters when it was revealed that it could exceed £20m. As well as asking for "voluntary donations" from the public to cover the cost of specific events, the Catholic Church is also asking members to donate towards the overall cost of the visit, which it currently estimates at £7m.

The Church is also selling merchandise to coincide with the trip. T-shirts, fridge magnets and mugs are available, as well as more conventional religious artefacts.

Besides being hit by low attendance figures, the Pope's visit could suffer from a lack of television exposure, after BBC workers threatened to strike during that period (which will coincide with other major events such as the Last Night of the Proms) over pension disputes. Workers are being balloted on the issue; a result is expected in the week before the Pope is due to arrive in Britain.

Add to this the stated intention of Richard Dawkins and others to attempt to arrest the Pope for his alleged complicity in the child abuse scandal while he is on British soil, and we could be in for an eventful visit come September.

Caroline Crampton is assistant editor of the New Statesman.

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The horror of the Olympics marriage proposal

Why asking your partner to marry you right after they’ve won a medal is a terrible thing to do.

In many ways, the Olympics is a bit like a relationship. Highs, lows, outlandish risks, heady rewards, periods of intense boredom, matching practical leisurewear, and always a little shorter than you expect it to last.

But that’s no excuse for what a few actual couples have been getting up to in Rio this year. For these shall forever be remembered as the Games of horrifying publicly-sanctioned entrapment under the guise of romance. Ie. the public marriage proposal.

So far, three couples have got engaged, and another publicised their upcoming wedding, during the Rio Olympics.

A practice usually reserved for the stands at loud yet indecipherable US sports games – in which the crowd roars and holds its hotdogs aloft in tribute as a sweating mess in a baggy t-shirt proposes to his girlfriend, the camera homing in on the raw fear in her eyes – the public proposal has been promoted to global audiences via live Olympic Games coverage.

A couple of days ago, the Chinese diver, Qin Kai, proposed to his girlfriend and fellow diver, He Zi, moments after she had been awarded a silver medal for her performance in the three-metre springboard. Basking in her triumph, stepping off the podium just after the medal ceremony, Zi was met with her man on one knee, presenting her a diamond ring and a Beauty and the Beast-style red rose encased in glass. A metaphor if ever there was one.

Here it is:

 

And you can watch in agony how long it takes her to nod her head in grudging agreement here:

 

She said yes! the papers and commentators were quick to gush. But how could she have said otherwise? Not only was her boyfriend quaking at her feet, the whole stadium cheering, and the world’s media filming, but she had just experienced one of the proudest moments of her life – winning an Olympic medal. How could she possibly spoil her moment by being awkward and taking the time to think about this surprise proposal? (And she confirmed afterwards that it was very much a surprise).

This is the problem with public proposals. They are, at heart, an act of intense coercion and humiliation, made by men apparently too insecure to ask their loved one to spend the rest of their life with them without a baying mob complicit in the weird slushy sting operation.

And the post-medal Olympian public proposal is even worse. As with British dressage gold medallist Charlotte Dujardin’s fiancé, Dean Wyatt Golding – who donned a crappy A4 sheet of paper whimpering “Can we get married now?” in passive-aggressive felt-tip following her win – it’s just stealing your partner’s limelight. Taking the glory and attention they’ve received for their sporting prowess, and immediately focusing it on you, and your ownership of them. You’ve won your prize, now it’s time for me to claim mine.

On your knee, get set, NO.

Anoosh Chakelian is deputy web editor at the New Statesman.